CHAPTER XI.
BREAKING TWO ROOKIES.
A fresh breeze, tossing up the foamy white caps; fleecy clouds,scurrying by overhead; and, on the sparkling sea, spread in a longformidable line, the North Atlantic squadron, steaming "in column,"bound for the battle practice at Guantanamo. Between each of the hugebattle bulldogs, glistening wetly with the tossed-up spray, a perfectdistance was maintained--as accurately as if the space between eachship in the long line were fixed permanently; yet the squadron wasreeling off twenty knots an hour on its way to tropic waters.
On the fore-deck of the _Manhattan_, which, leviathan as she was,pitched heavily in the huge Atlantic swells, stood the two DreadnoughtBoys; but a big change was manifest in the ruddy-headed Herc's smilingfeatures, since he sat down to supper the night before the squadronsailed.
Ned regarded his chum with a smile at the other's woe-begone look.
"Cheer up, Herc," he said. "It will soon be over, you know.Sea-sickness does not last long."
"A good thing it doesn't," groaned the unfortunate Herc, "or I'd befinished with earthly woes by this time. O-oh-oh-oh!"
The exclamation was forced from Ned's cousin as the _Manhattan_ gave anextra heavy pitch which sent the salt foam flying in a wet cloud overthe port-bow.
It was the second morning following the fleet's departure from NewYork. The night before, after a day of agony, poor Herc had beenhoisted into his hammock by three sailors, and now, in the early dawn,he was undergoing once more all the torments of the day previous. Ned,on the contrary, seemed unaffected by the motion of the ship in theheavy sea-way, and had escaped the toll old Neptune demands from mostneophytes.
"Here, you boys," bluffly snapped a boatswain's mate, approaching theboys; "what are you doing here?" It was not the same petty officer whohad shown them about the ship.
"Beg pardon, sir," said Ned, respectfully saluting, "but we haven'treceived any assignments yet."
"Well, lay hold of a swab and get to work."
"A swab, sir?"
"It sounds what I feel like," groaned Herc.
"Yes, a deck-mop, if you like that term better. No idlers allowed here."
"My friend here, is pretty sea-sick, sir," ventured Ned respectfully.
"Never mind; a little work will do him good--work and a goodbreakfast----"
"Breakfast oh-o-o-oh!" from the luckless Herc.
"Come, hammocks have been piped down for five minutes. Have you stowedyours?" demanded the boatswain's mate sharply.
"Yes, sir," replied Ned, who had performed this office both for himselfand for his friend.
"Well, you will turn to with the first deck division and scrub decks."
"Very well, sir," said Ned, starting forward to where he saw a numberof jackies, armed with swabs, preparing to begin the first daily taskon a man-o'-war. Scrubbing and painting and cleaning brasswork are aJackie's chief tasks at sea.
"But hold on a minute--your boots."
The boatswain's mate glared downward disapprovingly.
"Have I lost those, too?" moaned Herc.
"Take off your boots, at once. Footgear is not allowed while scrubbingdecks."
"Very well, sir. Come, Herc, we must go forward."
Followed by Herc, Ned made his way to the fore superstructure, whereswabs were being served out. After a little inquiry, he found his"station," and guided the half-dazed Herc into his place in thescrubbing line. Soon they were at work on one of those tasks which mayseem menial, but which every boy who enters Uncle Sam's navy must learnto do without complaint.
"I didn't leave home to scrub floors," muttered Herc indignantly,his disgust getting even the better of his sea-sickness; "is this asailor's chore?"
"Never mind, Herc; look at it from this angle--in scrubbing decks youare helping to keep your five-million-dollar home clean."
"I'd give five million dollars to be ashore," groaned Herc, a freshparoxysm sweeping over him.
Suddenly the sharp cry of "Attention!" rang along the decks.
The scrubbing squads straightened up stiffly, and came to the positionof salute.
It was the captain, making an early tour of inspection with theexecutive officer of the ship, Lieutenant-Commander Scott. Behindhim came his orderly and a messenger. Altogether, it was quite animpressive little parade.
Ned thought that the captain, whom he had last seen quelling the onrushof the crazed stokers, glanced at him with a flash of recognition. Heknew enough, however, not to betray by the flicker of an eyelash thathe had ever seen his commander before.
As for Herc, he was fortunately, perhaps, past paying attention toanything.
"Tell the men to carry on," Ned heard the captain say to theboatswain's mate in charge of his scrubbing squad, as the officerspassed by.
"Carry on," thought Ned; "what on earth is that?"
"Come; carry on!" said boatswain's mate sharply to Ned as the boy stillstood at attention, having received no order to resume work.
Ned looked at him inquiringly, and the man saw the lad was puzzled.
"Carry on. Go on with your work," he said, and Ned at once understoodthe hitherto mysterious order.
Breakfast followed the swabbing-down work, and Herc, who felt somewhatrevived, managed to swallow a few mouthfuls. Not enough, however,to completely restore him, and a shipmate, seeing his despondentcondition, advised him to visit Pills.
"What is that?" asked the astonished boy.
"It isn't a 'what,' it's a 'he'," explained the man; "Pills is thedoctor."
"Well, if there's a doctor on board, I certainly want to see him,"agreed Herc; and, at seven-thirty, together with several other men,suffering from real or imaginary ills, he sought out the ship's doctor,who gave him some remedies, which soon made the boy feel all right.In fact, an hour later Herc and Ned found themselves consigned to apainting squad, working, side by side, on the big forward turret whichhoused the twelve-inch guns.
Beside them was another blue-jacket and old Tom, their acquaintance oftheir first day of naval life.
Ned felt a thrill, as, in his bosn's chair, he dangled on the side ofthe turret close to the glistening barrels of the huge guns, whichcould hurl a ponderous weight of metal, an 870-pound projectile, almostten miles. He wondered if he would ever attain his present ambition,which was to serve on the crew in the big forward turret, the one hewas then engaged in painting a dull-slate color.
Conversation is allowed among blue-jackets at work if they are discreetenough not to make their tones too loud, and relapse into silence whena petty or a commissioned officer happens along. Thus Ned and theconvalescent Herc found time to ask many questions concerning the ship.Naturally, the talk drifted, as they worked, to the turret on whichthey were toiling.
"If I tell you boys a secret can you keep it--teetotal abstinence?"asked old Tom suddenly.
"You had better not confide in us, if you don't think so," rejoined Nedsomewhat sharply.
"Oh, no harm meant," hastily put in Tom; "and at that, it isn't so muchof a secret. It's been hinted at in the papers, and maybe you may haveheard of it. Have you?"
"Why, how can we tell unless we know what it is?" questioned Ned, witha laugh.
"Well," confided old Tom seriously, and lowering his voice--though bythis time the third man on their side of the turret was painting atsome distance from them--"well, inside this here turret is one of thenew Varian guns. They are the invention of Henry Varian, of Boston----"
"The inventor of that new explosive?" breathed Ned.
"Exactly; Chaosite, they call it. Well, this here gun is speciallybuilt to handle this explosive, but it's never been tried yet;and--here's the secret--Varian himself is to join us in Cuba anddirect the firing tests of it. While the papers have got hold of thefact that we have the gun on board, none of them know that it is to betested on this battle practice, or that Varian himself is to meet us atGuantanamo."
"How do you come to know all this?" asked Ned.
"Why, I'm the stroke-oar of the captain's boat--w
hen he uses it--whichisn't often, nowadays," lamented old Tom, who hadn't much use for"steamers" and gasoline launches. "Well, when we was at Key West, Irowed him ashore--helped to, that is--and I overheard him talking tothis fellow Varian himself about the gun. I wasn't eavesdropping, youunderstand; just overheard."
"That's mighty interesting," mused Ned; "of course, I have read ofthe government's experiments with Chaosite. It is supposed to be, Ibelieve, the most powerful of all explosives yet discovered. It's greatto think that we are on board the first ship to try it under actualbattle conditions."
"I wish we could get on the crew of that gun," put in Herc. "I'd likemighty well to see just how that Chewusite acts when it's touchedoff. Regular Fourth of July, I guess. Pop-boom-fizz! Up in theair!--stars!--bang--down comes the stick!"
As Herc spoke, in his newly recovered vitality, he swung his pot ofslate-colored paint about, to illustrate his meaning. As ill-luck wouldhave it, the wire handle was not oversecurely fastened, and off flewthe receptacle of the pigment with which the turret was being covered.
"Oh, crickey! Now I've done it!" groaned Herc, as he felt the bucketslip from the handle and go hurtling down.
The next moment Ned echoed his chum's exclamation of dismay, as he sawwhat had occurred.
To make matters worse, at that very moment the redoubtable Kennell waspassing beneath the turret, on his way aft to clean some brasswork, andhad turned his face upward, preparatory to flinging some jeering remarkat the two Dreadnought Boys.
The contents of the unlucky pot of paint fell full on his sneeringfeatures, blotting them out in a sticky cloud of gray pigment!